Akai Tsubaki
by Midorino Mizu
Summary: Sakurazuka Setsuka decides that it is time her son became the Sakurazukamori.


Akai Tsubaki  
  
A CLAMP fanfiction by Midorino Mizu  
  
Disclaimer: Sakurazuka Setsuka and Sakurazuka Seishirou are characters in the CLAMP mangas Tokyo Babylon and X. They are used without permission.  
  
She looked far too young to have a teenaged son. The lady reading in the garden had very long, straight, glossy black hair. Part of it was tied back in an intricate knot; the rest was left to stream loosely down her back. Her unusual violet eyes were fixed on the page in front of her.  
  
She wore a kimono, which in and of itself was not so unusual. What was strange was the quality of the kimono. It was fashioned of pure black silk, and painted with red camellia petals. The obi was a matching red, with black and violet embroidery. The entire garment was lined with purple silk, which could be seen on those rare moments when the lady in the garden shifted on the bench.  
  
Sakurazuka Setsuka looked up from her book of onmyoujitsu and noted the position of the son. Seishirou would be home from school soon.  
  
She smiled.  
  
***  
  
Sakurazuka Seishirou generally found school to be a mere convenience. He found that his classes were generally quite easy for him, even at CLAMP Campus, which was theoretically supposed to be the most difficult school in Japan.  
  
His mother always told him that education served a purpose, however, so he continued to attend.  
  
He often wished for a more interesting occupation.  
  
As he entered the house, he dropped his schoolbag and headed directly for the garden. His mother always waited for him in the garden, on the bench under her favorite camellia tree.  
  
Today, she was wearing her favorite and most expensive kimono.  
  
It must be a special occasion.  
  
"I'm home, Okaa-san."  
  
"Ah, Seishirou." Setsuka looked up abruptly, as if she had not sensed the moment her son had come through the front gates. "So you are. Come and give me a kiss."  
  
The kiss was not platonic, because Setsuka did not wish it to be so, and Seishirou had no qualms about granting his mother her happiness.  
  
She drew away, and smiled up at her tall son. "You look very like your father."  
  
The resemblance was only physical; in most other ways, Setsuka thought, Seishirou was like her. And in some ways, he was like no one else she had ever met. Cold and hot, all at once.  
  
He would be a perfect Sakurazukamori.  
  
His father, by contrast, had been a perfect example of a nervous middle manager. She had met him when she had been playing geisha in Osaka.  
  
It had been a job, of course; some important man who had angered some other, more important man. The target had frequented the geisha district quite often, where he would get himself drunk on sake and music.  
  
It had been the perfect trap. That her prey had brought along his assistant, Kenichi, was only her good fortune.  
  
Normally, someone of his professional status would never have been allowed the privilege of visiting the geisha; Kenichi was only there at the behest of his boss, and seemed more embarrassed by it than anything else. He knew he hadn't been brought for any professional purpose, but because his boss wanted to impress the geisha with his assistant's handsome looks.  
  
They had been; many of them had spent the evening tittering behind the screens in the tearoom.  
  
Setsuka had not; she had looked into the man's amber-brown eyes and thought that she wanted her child to have eyes that color.  
  
They lived together for six months after they first met. Kenichi never dreamed, of course, that his delicate girlfriend had anything to do with the mysterious disappearance of the vice-president of his company; the very idea that such an innocent-looking lady could commit such a crime was foreign to him.  
  
It ceased to be so unbelievable when Setsuka learned that she had conceived.  
  
The Sakura had liked Seishirou's father, too.  
  
"Shall we go inside then, Seishirou? You will want to start on your homework, as you'll be coming with me tonight." Setsuka stood and waited for her son to take her arm.  
  
Seishirou's face showed no change in expression, but he was mildly surprised and intrigued. His mother rarely took him on jobs anymore; when he had turned thirteen, she had deemed him fully trained and had only rarely brought him along in the following years.  
  
He smiled. "Of course, Okaa-san."  
  
He had been right, he thought. It was a special occasion.  
  
***  
  
Dinner in the Sakurazuka household was always an understated, elegant affair, with traditional food, lit candles, and beautiful floral arrangements.  
  
One of the first things his mother had taught Seishirou was the importance of appearance in their line of work. The Sakurazukamori should never overdo it.  
  
There was a fine line between maintaining the romance of death and overblowing it into something gluttonous and greedy. The Sakurazukamori walked this line, but never crossed it.  
  
They preserved the drama without turning it into something disgusting.  
  
It was an important lesson, and Setsuka extended it into their home.  
  
It was designed in traditional lines, with an emphasis on impact rather than comfort. Color was used sparingly; black and white dominated, with well-placed splashes of scarlet and violet.  
  
A low table that was rumored to have first been built in the Heian era, when Kyoto, not Tokyo, had been the center of Japan, dominated the dining room. Large cushions in black and white surrounded it, except at the head and foot of the table, where Setsuka and Seishirou sat.  
  
Setsuka sat on a pillow of royal purple, and Seishirou sat on one of deep crimson.  
  
"Wine, Seishirou?" He looked up at his delicate mother and smiled his assent, and then watched as the ruby liquid was poured into his glass.  
  
They always drank the finest red wines with their evening meal.  
  
They ate in silence, which was not unusual. Neither Setsuka no Seishirou had ever felt the pressing need for conversation at the dinner table. The only sounds were of ivory chopsticks clicking faintly against bone china and the music that played softly in the background.  
  
Setsuka only rarely took her eyes off her son throughout the entirety of the evening.  
  
The end of the evening was signaled when Setsuka set her chopsticks to the side. "It's time to go, Seishirou, if we don't wish to be late."  
  
Seishirou smiled, and it was the smile of a barely civilized hunter. "Yes, Okaa-san," he replied obediently. He stood to fetch her wrap and his own coat.  
  
***  
  
The night was crisp and cool, and the pair was once again silent. It was a different kind of silence, however; the silence of the hunter.  
  
The most successful hunters are always quiet. The Sakurazukamori were a s quiet as Death.  
  
Seishirou allowed his mother to lead him down the quiet Tokyo streets and into Ueno Park. They stopped beneath the sakura tree that was most familiar to them. Setsuka turned to the person she loved most.  
  
"Do you know who the prey is tonight, Seishirou?"  
  
She knew he did; she had seen the light that had glowed in his eyes from the time he had had seen her that afternoon. She knew that he would do as she expected, as well.  
  
But she had to ask the question. It was part of the game.  
  
"Yes." He had known since he had stepped through the garden gates and had seen her dressed in her most beautiful kimono. He took a single step toward where his mother stood. "You are, Okaa-san."  
  
The wind picked up, and sakura danced around Setsuka's slight figure. Her smile was for the first time, genuine.  
  
"You've always been so smart, Seishirou."  
  
Her son's lips curved as he gathered the familiar power in his fingertips. His mother had never before been so beautiful as she was now, in this moment before her death.  
  
He struck.  
  
***  
  
Setsuka's hair was a puddle of jet black on the pale blanket of sakura petals. She gazed up at her son with a true smile on her face. Her son was knelt by her side, one arm behind her, supporting her. There was no pain or loss on his face, and she knew that he felt none in his soul.  
  
But that was how it should be. Even when he had just been born, she had never been Seishirou's most important person. That role was destined to be filled by someone else.  
  
She hoped that her son would one day be as happy in his moment of death as she was now.  
  
"Thank you, Seishirou," she whispered. A small, pale hand reached up to caress his face. "It is a beautiful thing, to be killed by the one you love most."  
  
Her hand fell to her side, and her eyes drifted shut. "Someday, you will know that."  
  
Seishirou stayed where he was, watching as his mother sank beneath the petals. Once there was nothing left, he stood, and surveyed the area with a clinical eye.  
  
He had the responsibility and the privilege now, and he felt a vague sense of satisfaction.  
  
Seishirou cast his eyes back down where his mother had lay only a moment before. Now, there was only a shifting sea of sakura in her place.  
  
He would have to bring red camellias tomorrow. They had been her favorite.  
  
~fin  
  
Author's Notes: The came into my head and refused to leave. I decided to go ahead and write it when I came home and turned on my cd player. The first song played was "Holding My Last Breath" by Evanescence, and if that's not a Setsuka song, then I don't know what is.  
  
The title, "Akai Tsubaki" means red camellia, and is basically my effort to make a pathetic title seem better by putting it in Japanese. 


End file.
